Cry Out From the Ground
by liron-aria
Summary: [The Lord said, "What have you done? Listen! Your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground." - Genesis 4:10, NIV] In which Magnus' mind control spell succeeds, and the Mark of Cain and the First Blade act hard and fast. The story of Cain and Abel plays out again in their descendants, and Sam pays the price.


A/N: This is in response to agelade's post-Blade Runners fic request on tumblr, where she asked for Sam facing off against a Dean under Magnus' spell and the Blade's bloodlust.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. If I did, Sam would get a ton more screen time, meaningful relationships with other characters, and Jess. Jess would come back.

But that is neither here nor there, so please, sit back and enjoy!

* * *

Sam knows this trip is going to suck the moment he sees the First Blade.

Part of it is the First Blade itself. It's sitting on a pedestal, like a treasured prize, and he can feel its _evil_ resonating from across the room. This is the weapon responsible for the first murder, the first time brother killed brother.

There are uncomfortable Cain and Abel parallels whispering at the back of his mind. Getting Dean to talk about his meeting with Cain had been like pulling teeth - getting Dean to talk about _anything_ these days is - but he remembers Dean mentioning that Cain found him worthy, that Cain had saved Abel from being Lucifer's pet.

Yeah, _really_ uncomfortable parallels here.

Another part is how nothing ends well for the Winchester brothers when the supernatural takes special interest in them. _Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I present to you Article 1: the Apocalypse._

So when Magnus blows some kind of powder in his face, and he suddenly finds himself back in the cold? He's not really surprised. Annoyed, yes. Surprised? Not as such.

Time to figure out how to get back to Dean, before Magnus adds Dean to his zoo or something equally catastrophic.

* * *

"Who woulda thunk it, eh, Moose? You and me, same team, in the trenches."

_I'm on your side, Sam._

Was it Ruby who said that? Lucifer? Both?

"When this is over, we can get matching tattoos."

When this is over, Sam's going stab Crowley in the brain, and take great pleasure doing it. Forget Dean and the Blade, he'll do it himself.

Sam hefts the box of files he nabbed from the bunker earlier and schools his expression to 'politely neutral.' "Just to be clear, Crowley, we're not on the same anything." And then, just because he's feeling mean, "By the way, since the place is warded, your powers are useless, which means you are useless. Even more so than usual."

Crowley doesn't rise to the bait, which is both unfortunate and a credit to him. "You're gonna need another set of hands when you get in there. Unless you have other volunteers in mind."

Yeah, like Hell.

"Thanks. Pass," Sam replies, studiously ignoring the demon to flip through files.

"If memory serves me, _I'm_ the one who helped your brother…"

Oh, God, _why is he still talking_.

"I'm the one who flushed that lout Gadreel out of your noggin…"

Sam's fists tighten around manila and his jaw clenches as he stares at the ground in front of him. No. _No_, that was _him_, he shoved Gadreel out _himself_, just like he took control from Lucifer _himself_.

It had been a damn sight easier, too.

"… So lately, Big Boy, I've seen more playing time than you -"

"Crowley. Will you _please_ shut. The Hell. Up."

And then, silence.

Hallelujah.

Now if he could just get the demon to stop _hovering_.

The sun has set and cold is biting at Sam's nose and fingertips by the time he finally hits on something useful. "Here's something - Apparently, he wanted to make the entire Men of Letters bunker invisible. 'All physical points of entrance were to be eliminated, and entrance would only be gained…' by spell."

Fabulous.

Why are the smart ones always crazy? If they could have actually gotten Magnus' _help_… Well, no use thinking about it now.

Sam scans through the rest of the file. "Oh. We're gonna need some things. You might actually turn out to be useful, Crowley."

Sam hands the first page of ingredients as he stands. "First five ingredients."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Sam blinks, and Crowley's gone.

Diva probably timed that.

Sam glances back at the paper, rifling through the trunk of the Impala for a bowl and the other ingredients. The spell is for single passage, but if he changes the wording, he should be able to keep it open longer. Adding a conditional clause for him and Dean, maybe? No, that wouldn't work unless he and Dean entered and exited together. Maybe just extending the time…

"Order up, Moose."

Sam gestures for Crowley to hand him the ingredients and starts mixing. If he leaves the portal open for, say, half an hour, Magnus is sure to notice, but even that might not be enough time to retrieve Dean. He doesn't even know how big Magnus' lair actually _is_.

"Anything I can do to help?"

If he leaves the portal open for an hour, that'll probably be enough, but it also increases the chance that Magnus could use the same portal to come after them - not that he wouldn't have his own spells to exit, anyway.

"So, what's the plan, then?"

Wait, does this spell require astronomy? Because there are sheets that totally look like star charts, and he's not exactly in a light-pollution-free zone. Sam peers at the file again - oh good, that was just for laying down the invisibility wards.

Sam turns and bites down a curse when he nearly walks into Crowley.

The demon shoots him his approximation of a winsome smile, and Sam stares down at him, unimpressed. "The _plan_ is that you stay out of my way and let me do my job. If Dean's tied up, you get him free while I distract Magnus. If not, stay hidden unless you have a clear shot at taking out Magnus, _without_ costing me or Dean anything. The spell will disrupt the wards long enough for you to use your powers."

"It's almost like you don't trust me, Moose," Crowley replies, hurt.

Sam rolls his eyes and steps past the demon.

"I did good, eh, Moose?"

Sam grinds the ingredients and transfers them to another bowl, wondering how counterproductive it would be to throw the empty vessel at Crowley's head.

"Got everything on the list?"

Sam stands, glancing over the area one last time for hidden threats.

"You're _welcome_."

Sam sets his shoulders. "Remember - stay close, do what I say, and shut the Hell up."

"I'm growing on you, aren't I?"

Yeah, like a malignant tumor that's about to metastasize.

Sam holds out the bowl and starts to chant.

* * *

Magnus' house is like a maze, and Crowley's inane chatter is not actually helpful.

_"Mentem tuam ac voluntatem adsumo..."_

But, Magnus' chanting echoing down the halls _is_.

"Mind control spell," Crowley offers, "Not looking good, Moose."

Sam glares viciously at Crowley, but the sound of footsteps distracts him before he can reply. He holds out a hand, gesturing for Crowley to hide in an alcove.

Magnus walks past them - shifter? - and Sam presses against the wall, waiting for his chance.

Shifter-Magnus looks around once, shrugging, and then turns his back, opening a drawer.

Sam wraps his arm around his neck and presses his knife against his throat. "Take me to my brother."

Shifter-Magnus freezes as the real one stops chanting. Maybe it's just adrenaline hyping up his imagination, but Sam thinks he can feel the Blade resonating all the way out here. He presses the knife closer in warning. "Don't talk, walk."

The shifter nods slightly, and Sam can _feel_ him resisting the urge to swallow. Wouldn't want to make it easier for the knife to break skin.

He can't see Crowley, even at the edge of his vision, and he has to trust - even if it tastes like poison on his tongue - that Crowley is as invested in getting Dean out safe as he is. The demon needs them to take out Abaddon, and he has to count on that.

This is going to end so badly for everyone.

Shifter-Magnus takes him back to the living room, where Dean is sitting on the couch, with his back to Sam.

"Dean?"

Dean doesn't respond.

The shifter jerks in his hold, scrabbling for the knife, and Sam reflexively stabs him in the throat.

"Now, Sam, that wasn't very nice."

Sam drops the dead body to see Magnus - the real one, he thinks - looking at him disapprovingly.

He brandishes his knife, the mind control spell still ringing in his ears. "What did you do to my brother?!"

Magnus blinks, as if stunned, "Why, nothing! Dean and I were just having a little chat, isn't that right, Dean?"

"Just a little chat," Dean replies tonelessly, without turning back.

Sam looks at him. "Dean? Magnus, I swear to God -"

Magnus holds up his hands in supplication, a mocking smile on his face as Sam moves towards Dean. "Dean, are you alright?

"I'm fine."

He's still not looking at Sam, and his voice is still toneless, as if he's reading from the phonebook. Yeah. He's _fine_.

Sam keeps his knife pointed at Magnus, reaching out to shake Dean's shoulder. "Dean?"

"Kill him."

Sam barely processes Magnus' order, before Dean _explodes_ into action, surging up to wrench Sam's hand away and _throw him_ over the back of the couch.

"_Jesus, Dean -"_

Sam rolls to the side, narrowly avoiding Dean stabbing down with the First Blade.

_Oh God what the Hell -_

Sam scrambles back, colliding with another pedestal, knocking something down. "Dean! It's me! Snap out of it!"

Dean doesn't even hesitate, advancing on him while twirling the Blade in his hand, the Mark glowing red hot on his arm. "I know who you are."

Great, so that avenue isn't going to be of any use. Sam tamps down on the bitter strain of '_not enough, never enough_' at the back of his mind and tries again. "Come on, Dean, this isn't you. Let go of the Blade."

"Why would I do that?"

Sam swears and throws himself to the side, his shoulder screaming in pain as the First Blade slices through it like butter.

Okay, so less talking, more fighting. Great. He can do that.

Sam scrabbles for his gun as he gets to his feet, wishing he still had his knife. He can't shoot Dean - doesn't want to shoot Dean - because the only shots strong enough to disable him would be to the elbows or knees, which will leave him almost defenseless against Magnus, and out of commission for too long after.

"Come on, Dean, don't make me do this," he pleads, his pistol steady in his grip, "Snap out of it!"

There's nothing up bloodlust and murder in Dean's gaze, and Sam wonders if he was ever that far gone, even completely hopped up on demon blood.

"I'm going to kill you, Sam," Dean replies, and Sam fires.

Dean knocks the bullet aside with the First Blade.

Oh God.

He's _screwed_.

"This is the most entertainment I've had in years!" Magnus gloats, and _where the Hell is Crowley, anyway?!_

Sam's hindbrain gibbers as Dean darts forward, wrenching his gun hand away and plunging the Blade into his side.

_"Dean!"_

Fire lances across his side as he bucks in Dean's hold, trying to break free. His knee comes up and crashes into Dean's abdomen, allowing him to drive his foot back into Dean's knee. Dean grunts in pain and Sam drops his gun, twisting his arm free and stumbling back.

A hand clamps down on his elbow, and the world washes black.

* * *

_"Crowley, what the Hell?!"_

Sam scrambles to his feet after Crowley deposits them in the woods outside, his head starting to swim. They're not outside Magnus' lair, the trees are too different.

He slams the demon against a tree, arm against his throat.

"At least buy me dinner first," Crowley croaks out, always cocky, always insouciant.

Sam bears down on him, anger and adrenaline thrumming in his veins. "You were supposed to take out Magnus!"

"Wouldn't have done any good," Crowley replies blandly, "Even if I'd killed Magnus, the Blade's hold on your brother is too strong. He'd have still tried to slice you up like a fine fillet mignon."

Sam remembers feeling the Blade's power in the air, remembers the Mark glowing like a brand on Dean's skin. "Take me back."

"Did you not hear a word I said?" Crowley demands incredulously.

_"Take me back, Crowley."_

"Oh, it's like talking to a _wall_," Crowley complains, rolling his eyes, "You can't do anything, you big lummox!"

Sam can feel it rising in him, a rage more vast than ancient than his own, remnants of millennia with the jewels of the Father's Creation.

Lucifer's words, not his.

"He's my brother," Sam grinds out, "I'm not just going to _leave him_ there at Magnus' mercy!"

"And just how do you think you're going to manage that?" Crowley sneers, "Because from where I stood you brother wiped the floor with you. You can't save him anymore than you can stop the tides."

Sam feels his - not his, not really - rage crest and clarity wash over him. He gets like this, sometimes, when he forgets to stamp down on his pride, when his abilities as a hunter are called into question. When Dean's around, it's easily to squash it - _deny himself_, a voice whispers - but with Crowley?

With someone who should _know better?_

Sam swipes a bloody finger across Crowley's forehead, marking out a sigil and speaks a Word that no mortal being has heard since Michael cast the Morningstar out of Heaven.

The sigil glows and Crowley's eye bug out.

"You didn't -"

"Shut up, Crowley."

The demon's expression twists in anger. "You - _augh!_"

Crowley writhes in pain and clamps his mouth shut.

Sam smirks. He should have done that a _long_ time ago. Crowley's so much easier to control this way -

- Sam stumbles back from Crowley, feeling sick.

His head's swimming, and it's not a mind control spell, it's _not_, he's not like Magnus and Lucifer and Gadreel -

He's holding a loaded gun to Crowley's head, that's all.

"Always knew you were kinky, darling, but you're shit at foreplay," the demon sneers, dusting himself off.

Crowley jeers to regain control, and Sam schools his expression to regain his own footing. Mission first, ethics later.

"Where are we?"

"About half a mile east of your little Hobbit hole," Crowley replies, rubbing at the mark on his forehead.

Sam snorts. "Don't bother. The only way to break the binding is if I do it with my blood. Pre-Enochian is surprisingly... Personal."

"Well, well… this is a surprise, Moose, you've been holding out on me."

"Can't give away all my secrets, now can I? Start walking."

"Sam, Sam…"

Sam grabs Crowley's arm and pushes him in the direction of the bunker, speaking another Word. Crowley lets out a short cry and Sam smirks. "Don't push your luck."

"I love it when you get rough with me."

"Tell me everything you know about the First Blade and the Mark of Cain."

"What, no kisses? You really know how to butter a girl up, no wonder you're still single."

Sam cuts a furious glance to Crowley and the demon drops to the ground, howling in pain.

Sam watches dispassionately as he writhes on the ground.

"_Alright!_ Alright, I'll tell you what you want!"

Sam lets him writhe a moment more before allowing him respite. He hadn't expected Crowley to cave quite so quickly, but he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He helps the demon back to his feet and murmurs, "Remember, Crowley, your throne was meant for _me_, and there's a _reason_ you're still afraid of me, whether you want to admit it or not."

Crowley glares.

Sam shakes his head. "You know, everyone always says how good Alistair was, and how good his students are… but who do you think _trained_ Alistair, hmm?"

Sam smirks when he sees the recognition enter Crowley's eyes. "Yeah. So when I say _I_ learned from the best? Well, bored archangels are a _lot_ more creative than demons."

Crowley's gaze turns speculative.

"Now, walk and talk."

Crowley grumbles, but starts sharing information. "The Mark of Cain is Lucifer's mark."

"I thought it was God's way of protecting Cain from death."

"All propaganda. Lucifer burned his Mark into Cain with his own grace, binding Cain to him for all eternity. He blessed the First Blade the same way, so that only someone bearing the Mark could activate the powers of the Blade - like a lock and key."

Lucifer's grace, brilliant. They'll just reach into the Cage and scoop some out, shall they? But then Sam remembers Cas holding a syringe to his neck.

"... His grace? It's Lucifer's grace that's the key?"

"Caught that, did you?" Crowley replies with a smirk, "I know what you're thinking - you have Lucifer's grace in you, all tied up and twisted into the fabric of your soul. But it won't work."

"Why not?"

"You need a powerful, concentrated burst of grace to disrupt a spell like that. Your smidgeon of Lucifer's grace is too diffuse, spread throughout all of you."

Sam bites back a sigh as they trudge on. Of course it's not that simple.

* * *

"You know, this is a nice place, all told."

Sam glances up from his book irritatedly.

Crowley's back in shackles, an extra precaution in case he finds a loophole in the binding spell. Crowley whines that they're unnecessary, but Sam's not taking any chances, not with a demon. _Never again._

"A bit utilitarian for my tastes, really, but it's still got a homey feel to it. A few plants, maybe some nice throw pillows, could really brighten this place up."

God did not grant mankind patience enough to deal with a bored Crowley.

"Crowley. _Shut up._"

The demon falls silent and Sam looks back down at his book. There's a spell here that might work, talking about breaking angelic binding, and another about extracting angelic grace from vessels, without the use of a syringe to the neck. The spell's tricky, because the longer an angel stays in a vessel, the more grace it leaves behind, until the grace starts merging with the host soul.

He remembers that, alright, remembers not being able to tell where he ended and Lucifer began.

Sam's lips thin as he looks down at the footnote. The only way to release that much grace at once is to separate it from his body - he'll have to die. The grace will need a direct point of contact with the Blade to take hold - which means Dean will have to stab him.

God, is this really how it ends? Dead at his brother's hands, re-enacting Cain and Abel?

Guess that's what he gets for living on borrowed time. He should have finished the Trials. Hell would be shut, and there would be no need for Dean make sacrifices he didn't know the price of.

He should have stayed in the Cage. He should never have come back and fucked things up with the Leviathans and Purgatory and his mistakes.

He should have stayed dead at Cold Oak.

Sam shakes his head. Now's not the time for regrets. "Here's something," he says, sliding the book towards Crowley, "Will this work to break Lucifer's binding?"

Crowley scans the text and shrugs. "Sure. Just one problem - the spell requires the use of Higher Enochian."

Sam stares at the demon. "Why would that be a problem?"

Crowley's brow furrows slightly, before he rears back in outrage. "You're _joking!"_

It takes Sam a moment, but then he scoffs. "Five millennia with half the population that knows Higher Enochian. You didn't think they spoke English the whole time, did you?"

"You are _unfair_," Crowley mutters petulantly as Sam turns away to get ready, "You're stacking the deck. How is any self-respecting force of evil -"

"Crowley. Let's go."

* * *

This time when Sam opens the portal to Magnus' lair, he's strangely calm.

He's walking to his death, a death at the hand of his own brother, a death that's going to break his brother's heart, but he's… almost at peace.

There's no other choice left, no other options. This is the price he has to pay to save Dean from Cain's hold, from Lucifer's hold, and it's a price he'll gladly pay.

There has to be an end to all this.

"Remember - you take down Magnus the moment you see him. I'll handle Dean."

"And if I do, you'll -" Crowley gestures at his forehead.

Sam nods. "I'll break the binding."

Actually, his death will break the binding, but that's just semantics.

This time, they don't bother with silence inside Magnus' halls.

"Dean! Magnus!"

"Back for Round Two?"

Sam ignores Magnus as he steps into the corridor, keeping his attention on his brother. "Dean… Please, you gotta snap out of it! _This isn't you!"_

He has to try. One last time.

"You know, Sam, I have to admit, I underestimated you," Magnus says, his voice cloying, "The destined Boy King of Hell, a vessel who survived possession by an _archangel_, not to mention years in the darkest recesses of Hell, a creature that _thrived_ without its soul… there must be something truly special about you."

Sam's gaze snaps towards the former Man of Letters, his skin crawling.

"Dean was very forthcoming," Magnus explains with a smile, and Sam wants nothing more than to separate his head from his shoulders. "There may even be a place for you in my zoo, since you Winchesters are so keen to come in a pair."

"I'll pass, thanks."

Magnus shrugs. "I suspected as much. No matter, I can dissect you later. Dean -"

Magnus doesn't get to finish his statement before Crowley snaps his neck. Bastard couldn't have done that earlier?!

Dean glances at the corpse, before turning back to Sam, twirling the Blade. His eyes still blaze murder.

Sam holds his hands up. "Dean, come on. Please, please listen to me - I _know_ you're still in there, you've got to _fight this_ -"

Dean darts forward and Sam grunts, his knees buckling as the First Blade slides into his gut.

Sam can feel his being _twist_, trying to tear itself in two. Half recoils away, seeking peace, seeking freedom from the pain, and half… like calls to like, after all.

The Higher Enochian tumbles from his lips as blood and bile rush up his throat, and he can feel Lucifer's grace spiraling away, funneling into the Blade. He can tell there won't be enough to destroy it and the Mark, but maybe it'll be enough.

"S - _Sammy?!"_

Yes, maybe it'll be enough. Just enough to bring Dean back, to sever Lucifer's hold on him.

"Dean -"

Dean looks horrified - beyond horrified, actually, he looks devastated - but Sam doesn't feel any vindication. "Oh God - Sam - I - no, _no, Sam -"_

Sam's hands drop from Dean's shoulders to wrap around the handle of the Blade, pushing Dean's hand away. "It's okay, Dean."

It's funny, there was a time when he thought this was _exactly_ how it would all end. But it was _him_ going darkside, not Dean.

_If I didn't know you, I'd want to hunt you._

Dean didn't know him now, and look where it got them.

"_Sam_ - Crowley, _fix this_ -"

"He can't," Sam gasps out, "It's over, Dean."

It's over. The two minute mark has passed, so he's pretty sure his femoral and renal arteries are intact. But given the nature of the Blade, he's probably got, at best, ten minutes left.

Every breath hurts and he can't feel his legs.

"It's not over," Dean denies, crying. Stupid Sam, always making his big brother cry. "I'm gonna fix this, Sammy -"

"Dean. Just - listen. For once - just listen."

Dean falls silent and Sam blinks, trying to hold on to what he needs to say.

"I love you. And I forgive you. It had to be this way."

Dean's crying, and the world is too quiet.

"You have to - you have to stop this. Dean. The Mark, the Blade - I've been down this road and it goes nowhere good."

"Sam -"

"_Please_, Dean," and Sam knows it's a low blow to beg as he's dying, but he remembers how this ends, and Dean can't go down this road. One Winchester under Lucifer's thrall is enough. "Find another way to take out Abaddon. Promise me, Dean. Find another way."

Dean's jaw works, but the words don't come, and Sam can feel the sand draining out of his hourglass. "_Promise me_, Dean. _Please_."

"I promise," Dean whispers, raw and broken, and Sam'll _take it_, because at least he managed this. At least he can stop his brother from making his mistakes. "You've gotta hold on, Sam -"

Sam smiles weakly, because there's nothing to hold on to. Death stands in front of him, his expression mild.

"Are you ready this time, Sam?"

Sam's smile widens and he stands, leaving his body behind. "Yeah."

_"Sammy? Hey - Sammy, come on -"_

Sam looks back at Dean sorrowfully, reaching out to brush his fingertips against Dean's hair. Dean doesn't look up. "Bye, Dean."

Sam turns and takes Death's hand.

* * *

_Sam yelps, nearly dropping the bowl of popcorn. "Jess, did you just walk out of the freezer?!"_

_"I'm cold!" Jess protests, wrapping her hands around Sam's arm, and hugging it to her torso. "It's not fair that you're a human space heater."_

_Sam laughs and shifts so that Jess is tucked against his side, snuggled under his arm, covered by a blanket, her legs tangled with his. "You wouldn't survive a day in the Northeast, would you."_

_"There's a reason I picked Stanford over Harvard. Did you bring the tissues?"_

_Sam nudges the box of tissues with his foot. "Jess, you've seen this movie before and read the books cover to cover a hundred times."_

_"Boromir's death is a traumatic event, okay!" Jess protested, reaching over for some popcorn. "Now shut up and hit play."_

_Sam chuckles and settles back into the sofa. "Yes, Ma'am."_

* * *

Crowley watches Dean as he "mourns" - by getting blind drunk in a bar in Palo Alto. Because obviously, his brother would want him to honor his memory with alcohol and regrets too late over the life he could have had.

_Winchesters_.

Well, Winchester singular, now, he supposes.

If Crowley were the type to believe in worthy adversaries, he might chalk Sam Winchester up as one. Dean, not so much. But Sam… He had been someone to watch out for. Clever, ruthless, logical, with more hidden depths than all the world's oceans put together.

Honestly, giving one man the knowledge of Pre-Enochian, Enochian, and Higher Enochian - three of the major languages underwriting the Universe - was just too much.

It's a good thing Crowley _doesn't_ believe in worthy adversaries, because now there's no regret tainting his relief at removing a knight - maybe even a queen, if he's feeling generous - off the chessboard.

He hadn't expected Dean to fall quite so hard and fast under the Mark and Blade's spell, but he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. He knew the moment he saw the bloodlust in Dean's eyes unmoved by Sam's pleas that the only way out would be Sam's death.

That leaves one Winchester on the board - angry, drunk, grieving and oh-so-malleable. Unlike Sam, Dean is _ruled_ by his emotions, and Crowley knows how to play _that_ instrument like a virtuoso. He knows what cards to play - Sam, Abaddon, Gadreel - and how to play them. It's almost going to be _boring_ from here on out.

"The Hell do you want, Crowley?" Dean demands when he finally notices him.

Crowley opens his jacket, revealing the handle of the First Blade, and smirks when Dean's gaze is drawn to it like a junkie jonesing for his next fix. "Buck up, Squirrel. We've got work to do."

* * *

A/N: Thoughts? Comments? Concerns? Please, let me know!

If anything in here stirs the need for discussion in you, shoot me a message. You can also find more of my thoughts on Sam Winchester on my tumblr (linked on my profile) under my Sam Winchester tag.


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